


keep this love

by colfield



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, But also, Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Only what happens in the show and nothing explicit is mentioned, Prompt Fill, Sort Of, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colfield/pseuds/colfield
Summary: This is his chance to do better, be better. For Pope. For himself. For this tiny, fragile thing growing between them. For the space that Pope has carved for him into his future.
Relationships: JJ/Pope (Outer Banks)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54





	keep this love

**Author's Note:**

> fic title from the Maggie Rogers song Burning. Someone on tumblr sent a request for a prompt _and the love that I dreamt of came to me at my worst_ and I got a little carried away.

D.C. is loud, and brighter than JJ could’ve imagined.

He’s born for the water, the salt and grit and sting of the ocean, the siren song of waves, the fish-stink and muck of low tide. That’s the lot JJ drew in life, toiling away at an unsatisfying life of survival until he drinks himself to death, the proud tradition of all Maybanks before him.

Somehow, Pope has stolen him out of that story. JJ never thought he’d be worth the trouble. But Pope had tucked JJ under his arm, packing him away with the rest of his belongings without a backwards thought. As long as JJ has known him, Pope has been doing the impossible.

The long, unbroken highway stretched before them, the rented van shaking as JJ pushed the speedometer higher, the wind through the open windows stealing the laughter from their lungs. Freedom buzzed at the back of JJ’s teeth.

The city greeted them with dizzying height, light and noise wrapping every corner. It was _more_ than JJ had ever seen in one place in his whole life.

Pope unfurls in D.C., taking up the space he was always meant to, and JJ is so proud he could burst.

He looks proper Kook, in his school attire - pressed shirt buttoned to the hollow of his throat, the laptop he’d saved all summer to afford tucked safely into his bag, student ID proudly displayed around his neck. JJ swallows the fear sticking at the back mouth, forces a grin so wide his cheeks hurt. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” JJ says, pushing him out the door.

Without Pope around, JJ spends the days smoking through his emergency stash of weed and rearranging the sparse furniture in their one-bedroom apartment. He always ends up putting things back exactly how they were before Pope gets home.

Pope is gone a lot. It leaves JJ untethered, uneasy. He tries to be happy for Pope - he _is_ happy for Pope - but he doesn’t know how to survive without the weight of three bodies steadying him. He has an unbroken snap streak with John B that he dedicates more effort to than necessary, and he sends memes to Kiara that he knows she’ll hate, but both are busy - John B at Chapel Hill with Sarah, Kiara off the grid in some country he can’t pronounce, and Pope is creating a life here too, one that JJ can’t touch.

He looks in the mirror and can’t recognize himself without the imprint of abuse branded into his skin. For the first time in his life, his face is clear, unmarked. But there’s anger curdling under the surface. An ugly thing, twisting tighter in his chest.

He thought that would settle, with time and distance. It’s only made it worse.

There’s a restlessness in him, that wild thoughtless impulse that leads him straight to trouble. He’s done with all that though. This is his chance to do better, be better. For Pope. For himself. For this tiny, fragile thing growing between them. For the space that Pope has carved for him into his future.

So he gets a job at a construction site. Long hours and shit pay, but it’s good, to put his body to work again, to build something with his hands, to be useful.

He lasts six weeks.

Pope makes him quit when he comes home with a bruise dawning on his jaw and blood dried in the grooves of his knuckles.

The truth, admitted haltingly as ice melts against JJ’s cheek, pooling onto the peeling laminate of their kitchen floor, is that he went looking for it, found a guy big and mean enough to make it really hurt, then did what he does best - provoked, needled, and insulted his way into a fight. That bright starburst of pain, the flush of adrenaline, the world narrowing to a force of violence. He’d craved that, an itch under his skin that nothing else could satisfy.

And, really, he tries to explain, his voice thick under Pope’s careful gaze, it’s better this way. Better, that he’s the one getting hit, instead of the one hitting. He won’t become his father - if it means picking a fight to beat any trace of Luke Maybank out of him, well, it’s better that way.

“JJ,” Pope says, in the awful, gut-wrenching way he says JJ’s name sometimes, like it’s something unspeakably tragic. JJ wants to say _don’t_ or _stop_ or _it’s fine_ but Pope always manages to render him truthful.

JJ doesn’t cry, but Pope holds him like he does.

“Don’t do that again,” Pope whispers into the corner of JJ’s neck, his arms so tight around JJ that it’s the only way he remembers to breathe. JJ squeezes his eyes, pushing his face farther into the safe place on Pope's shoulder, and doesn’t say anything, because he won’t break a promise to Pope, ever, and he can’t promise something like that.

Pope finds him a job on campus, some hipster cafe where all the coffee’s got complicated italian names and the food is all vegan and gluten free bullshit. He stays for JJ’s training, under the pretense of studying, and grins the whole time as JJ breaks the espresso machine and spills coffee on his shoes.

It’s not all bad though. The students are friendly, a bit flirty. His boss, a stern looking junior named Cass, lets him smoke on his breaks. And Pope visits between all of his classes. He’s got his own table after a week. Cass glares at him whenever he comes in because JJ will spend most of his shift showing off for Pope rather than actually working, but they give Pope free coffee if he looks particularly frazzled.

And it’s not perfect - Pope still spreads himself too thin trying to be the best at everything, and JJ comes home sore and all his clothes stink of coffee now, and the kitchen sink leaks no matter how many times they fix it, and sometimes JJ can still picture bruises on his face and chest and all he wants to do is find a brick wall to run headfirst into just to make it all stop but -

But it’s more than JJ ever thought he’d have.

Pope kisses him on the first truly cold night of October.

It’s midterms, and he hasn’t moved in fifteen hours when JJ forces him into a sweater and drags him out into the dying twilight. JJ is ill-equipped for the cold - his only jacket, stolen from John B’s closet junior year, is thin at the elbows and shoulders, a poor barrier against the biting chill of late autumn. Pope is wrapped in layers, all proudly bearing GWU’s logo, and he looks cozy and soft, a collegiate wet dream. JJ’s ears and nose are red. He leans into Pope, steals his warmth, and complains about the cold until Pope rolls his eyes and throws an arm around him.

They scrounge together seven dollars for dinner at a food stand in the park. It’s near deserted, too late in the year for people to be lingering in evenings. They huddle on a bench, falafel steaming the air between them, their hands bumping in the dark as they reach for it.

JJ is not expecting the kiss, exactly, but he isn’t entirely surprised when Pope leans forward. He tastes like the tahini from their shared meal. JJ’s fingers are slick with oil and garlic.

A siren screams down the street, startling both of them apart, the flashing lights catching Pope in portrait, the gentle edges of his face and the pleased part of his lips, his eyes bright in blues and reds.

They walk home, Pope’s hand tucked safely between both of JJ’s.

In the dark safety of their room, JJ spreads Pope out on the sheets, stripping him of layers. He does it slow, gentle, touching Pope carefully in ways he was never allowed. He puts his mouth on all the hidden spots on Pope’s body, memorizing the hitch of Pope’s breath and the shifting of his hips and the curl of Pope’s fingers in his hair.

They do it again the next night, and the night after that, until JJ’s bed is abandoned for Pope’s, and Pope has learned all the matching spots on JJ’s body.

JJ looks in the mirror now and he sees the places Pope’s touch stays on him instead of the marks his father left.


End file.
